Every day at lunch break, I indulge in my favorite addiction: a Starbucks Skinny Vanilla Latte—extra hot or extra cold. The bubbly workers ask if I’d like my “usual.” If I’m feeling wild, I may venture out and try a Café Mocha or Mocha Light Frappuccino. Then I wiggle onto one of the high seats that make the average adult feel like a toddler—my feet swing and can’t reach the ground.
I try to read and write and not watch the other customers…but sometimes I can’t help but scan the place for possible characters ideas. Somehow I connect with every customer because we all decided to go to Starbucks at the same time on the same day. Who knows? Maybe God wanted me to cross paths with these strangers so I’d pray for them. And I do.
One drained lady comes in every day to order a brownie…just a brownie; if they don’t have any, she leaves without her goody bag. Does she have a family? Does she eat anything else? Why? All I know about this lady is that she lives close enough to walk, and she likes brownies. God knows her whole story and loves her.
A man with paper white hair inches his silver Buick into the parking lot…so careful as if not to knock the imaginary egg off a cone—flashback for Brady Bunch fans. (Google the episode.) As he gets out, he steps into a puddle, his car door smacks into the car parked next to him. The old guy doesn’t seem to mind. He continues into Starbucks as if nothing happened. His loafers squeak as he heads to the bathroom. Second person to leave without getting anything. How does anyone smell rich coffee brewing with a hint of hazelnut in the air and not want some?
I guess Starbucks is known for more than their coffee—their bathroom and brownies. I know it as a place to sprinkle some silent prayers.
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